"Yes, madam. This time the rye is good, but the spring wheat doesn't promise well. The young oat seeds are ripening too soon. Neither straw nor oats can be expected."
"They are complaining everywhere about the oats," sighed Arina Petrovna, watching Yudushka scoop up the last dregs of his soup.
Another dish was served, ham and peas. Yudushka took advantage of the opportunity to resume the broken conversation.
"I'll wager the Jews don't eat this," he said.
"Jews are dirty," responded the Father Provost. "So people mock them, calling them 'pig's ears.'"
"But the Tartars don't eat ham either. There must be some reason for it."
"The Tartars are dirty, too. That's the reason."
"We don't eat horse flesh, and the Tartars refuse pigs' meat. They say rats were eaten during the siege in Paris."
"Well, they were—French!"
The whole supper passed in this way. When carp in cream was served, Yudushka expatiated: "Fall to, Father. These are not ordinary carp. They were a favorite dish of my departed brother."